


The Fluffy Dark Broccoli

by 9240Lena



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Bottoming from the Top, Captain John Watson, Cute Sherlock, Dirty Talk, Doctor John Watson, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, Possessive John, Rough Sex, Sentimental Sherlock, Shameless Smut, Sherlock Holmes and Kinks, Sherlock is Not a Virgin, Sherlock likes it rough, Sherlock's Hair, Smut, Teasing, Top John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:11:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2726837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9240Lena/pseuds/9240Lena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rain does not appeal to Sherlock's curls, which led to some long overdue revelations. Nice, sweaty revelations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HEYYYYY. Look, new work! SMUT!  
> As always, not beta-ed and blah.

Sherlock is a ridiculous man, John knew that very well, and he would find himself catering to the detective’s every whim, if Sherlock asked nicely, which is very rare. Something would be really wrong if he does.

The detective owned and gained an abundant of possessions in his career of crime solving. Trophies from past cases that were scattered across the living area of 221B, the skull on the mantle, and almost everything in sight, which are either unique or just plain weird, but they reflected the inner workings of Sherlock’s complex mind and the person he is.

John didn’t mind them; in fact it made 221B look cozy, though cluttered, and he learned from experience not to question the odd items he would somehow come upon when tidying, as long it’s not harmful, or lethal to both of them, or their kind landlady, Mrs. Hudson.

So John didn’t bat an eyelid when he spotted the occasional sightings of hair ties on the table, he brushed it off as one of the few items left behind by one of their several female clients that Sherlock accepts. But as time went by, the hair ties seemed to multiply in places that are restricted to the general public other than them. It appeared on the bathroom sink, and once, on the arm of Sherlock’s black leather chair.

With that, it brought John to the current situation he is in.

The detective sitting opposite of him is cranky, very much so. There hasn’t been a case for a week, and the weather had been gloomy and by default, rainy. John watched, over the top of the newspaper he is currently not really reading as Sherlock drummed his fingers in rapid succession on the arm of his leather chair, celadon colored eyes flitting from the left to the right.

John shifted in his seat and immediately his small movements caught Sherlock’s attention, steel colored eyes met his and he folded his paper, making a move to get up, “Tea?”

“Hmm.”

John took that as a yes and abandoned his paper on the side table, pushing himself up and to the kitchen, with him away from direct line of sight; the detective retreated into his mind palace.

He went through the calming routine of making tea for two and carried a tray with their mugs and a plate of biscuits. John returned to their sitting area and pressed Sherlock’s mug into the detective’s hands, watching Sherlock’s eyes blink once, twice; the harsh focus in his eyes returning within celadon depths at the warmth of the ceramic making contact against his palms. John waited for the detective’s hands to cup around the mug securely before letting go.

Just as John settled down back into his still warm seat, rain began to pour outside and then as if the sound startled the detective, Sherlock jumped up and retreated into his room, his mug of tea, still hot was left abandoned on a stack of papers.

“Sherlock? Hey, you alright? What’s up with that?” John asked through the closed door of Sherlock’s bedroom. Through the wood, John could hear mumbling and then metallic things clattering to the floor, a few curses, and then the banging of a drawer door, “Sherlock?”

“I’m fine, John!”

“Nope, I’m coming in.” John twisted the knob just as Sherlock slammed his body against the door, forcing the door close, followed by the distinct sound of the lock clicking, “Sherlock!”

“GO AWAY.”

“WHY?”

“GO.”

“NO.”

“JOHN.”

“I can do this the whole day.”

“SO CAN I.”

“I’ll get Mrs. Hudson.”

“Sherlock?”

The lock clicked, and the door slowly, parted open.

“Promise not to laugh?”

John frowned at the hesitant voice, and then smiled, pushing the door open, “Promise.”

At first John didn’t see what was wrong, nor anything funny at all, till the detective flicked at his hair, an unconscious nervous tic he let slide pass his defenses that made John aware of the situation.

Sherlock was facing him with his head lowered slightly, his hair, normally curled perfectly as if he just walked out of a salon is…uncontrollable, wild. Dark thick curls fell over Sherlock’s forehead, light and airy as the rest of his hair rebelled against the humid condition the rain brought upon.

Rebelled is a nicer word. Than messy. Or unkempt.

God forbade Sherlock Holmes’s person is messy or unkempt.

“You’re smiling.” Sherlock said, and his voice startled the doctor out of his musings, “You promised.”

John smiled, eyes twinkling as he met Sherlock’s petulant expression, _adorable_ , “Yeah, well, I said I wouldn’t laugh. I didn’t. I smiled.”

“Hmph.” Sherlock huffed, combing his fingers back through his dark curls and with a elastic hair tie, bunched his fringe together, and tied it up.

John stared. The dark bunch of curls held together messily on the top of Sherlock’s head looks exactly like a…broccoli. A dark broccoli. A fluffy one.

Then before he could stop it, a hitched breath escaped through his parted lips and he laughed. And the moment he saw Sherlock’s expression he doubled over and guffawed.

“John!” Sherlock shouted, offended yet somewhat, amused.

The sound of John’s laughter, Sherlock had a whole floor of his mind palace reserved for it, and this was currently his second favorite. The first was the one John gave him at the back of the cab, after he explained his deductions to the doctor. A hidden smile he cherished. Of course there were others that he liked, but that was the first genuine smile that came with a breath of amazement.

“Sorry, Sherlock,” John huffed, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes as he straightened, grinning, “Come on, let me help you with your hair.”

“Hmph, you’re not exactly a certified hair dresser.” Sherlock huffed, flinging himself onto his bed.

“Well, for one, I have a sister; therefore, I have experience with hair tying whether I like it or not. I braided her hair when I was young.” John said, staring into Sherlock’s eyes, daring him to say anything at all.

For a while Sherlock was silent then he nodded, “Fair enough, my hair brush is over there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” John went where Sherlock pointed and retrieved the brush, “Untie that.”

Sherlock reached up and pulled the black elastic loose, shifting himself to the edge of his bed where he sat, waiting. He closed his eyes when he felt John’s hands on his head, and the feeling of brush bristles combing through his curls.

“It must be all that expensive shampoo you’re using.” John commented above him.

“Hmm?”

“Your hair is so soft.”

Sherlock hummed, aware that John stepped a little closer, he could smell the laundry detergent from John’s clothes, and the body heat the doctor is emanating. _So close._ He could almost- “ _Ah!_ ” Sherlock’s eyes flew open at the tug John did with the brush.

“Sorry! Was that a little too hard?” John apologized and soothed the detective’s scalp with the pads of his fingers, only to get a tremble in return.

“I have extremely sensitive hair follicles,” Sherlock explained, resisting the urge to press his head into John’s palms, if only John would exert more pressure, “It’s not the force, but the direction of your brushing.”

“Wow, you really do learn something new every day,” John stated as he ran the brush through unruly curls, he would never tell Sherlock that his surprised gasp affected him, and that it was a little bit arousing, it was deeper than any of the gasps he elicited from his ex female relations, but it was a nice sound nonetheless.

As he brushed, John gathered the longer strands into his hands and swept Sherlock’s fringe back and bunched it into a hold, and tied it with the offered hair tie. He did a fairly good job, he thinks, the detective’s hair looks restrained, combed into submission, falling over his nape; tousled but elegant, except for some shorter fly-away curls that cannot be tamed, jutting out at the sides, mocking John of his incompetence. Other than that, Sherlock looked like himself, except he looked, even more attractive. Like a lead singer in a band, the stoic man with a voice of liquid sin.  _STOP. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING?! SNAP OUT OF IT!_

“John.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re staring.”

“Hmm. I’m admiring my work. Shut up.”

“Okay.”

Silence.

John blinked at the silence, and turned his attention to the detective’s face. He didn’t notice when Sherlock moved, but now, Sherlock was half lying on the bed, his elbows bent to support his upper body weight as he looked straight at him.

Out of surprise, and slight embarrassment, John asked, “What are you doing?”

Sherlock didn’t reply, but fixed a steely hard gaze at him, one he would use at crime scenes where he would flit around the place looking for clues. John resisted the urge to fidget.

“Insufficient data,” Sherlock said after awhile, blinking as he took a deep breath, “John.”

“Yes?”

“You find me aesthetically pleasing.”

John sputtered, aware of his face heating up, “W-what?!”

Sherlock cocked his head slightly to the right, observing, “From the visual cues you’re displaying, the timbre of your voice, the flush in your cheeks,” He pushed himself up and stared into John’s eyes, “The dilation of your pupils, and the elevation of your breaths. All signs that point to-”

“Stop. Talking. Now.” John bit out.

Sherlock’s mouth snapped shut, his teeth clicking together in surprise at John’s stern tone. Eyes wide, he watched John silently as he wondered if he had finally crossed the line and John was going to leave him. His active mind conjured up several situations that would possibly play out and the reactions he would show; anger, indifference, but they were all lies. Deep down, he felt panicked, and afraid.

John _can’t_ leave.

He _can’t._

_He can’t._

John took a deep breath, and exhaled in short shuddering breaths; he fixed Sherlock a determined stare, “Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked up at the call of his name, he didn’t speak he just glanced at the doctor, waiting. Apparently his silence was appreciated as John gave him a short nod and then continued.

“I’m not good at this sort of things, you know this.”

Sherlock nodded. The unspoken _me too_ hung between them.

“I- Uh. You, Sherlock, uh. Erm...” John said, internally chastising the Englishman side of him that made it so difficult to convey his emotions, even with his extensive vocabulary, he was unable to put his current emotions into words, but the detective smiled, somehow getting it without him saying it. John tried to memorize the sight of Sherlock smiling at him, celadon eyes lighting up with child-like happiness, his lips curling up in a genuine smile that was absolutely stunning in its rarity, it was so contagious John started to smile along before they both ended up laughing.

“John,” Sherlock said, beckoning the doctor nearer, he patted the space beside him, he waited till the doctor settled down beside him before he continued on with a straight face, “I’ve been informed indirectly that in this kind of situations, it usually ends with sex. Are we going to have sex?”

John’s heart skipped a beat. Actually a few beats before it sped up, thumping hard in his ribcage at Sherlock’s not so subtle question. His mind conjured up images of them sweaty and panting, violently punishing Sherlock’s mattress with their activities, his daydream caused his other self in his pants to make a much unexpected appearance. _Wrong timing!_

“You’re very aggressive with your words, Sherlock.” John said, clearing his throat as he willed the beginnings of an erection away by recalling the images of a vile skin infection he saw and treated while he was on tour in Afghanistan. _Remember all those oozing pus, Watson. That infection, grisly business that. NOPENOPENOPE._

“I’m no blushing virgin.” Sherlock stated obviously.

 _Come again?_ “So…you…” John trailed off, hoping Sherlock would finish his sentence.

Sherlock gave John a bored expression, “I had a massage when I was still in uni.”

“Massage?” John repeated, urging the detective to go on.

“Yes, do keep up, John.” Sherlock answered, when John gave him a blank look, he continued on, “A body massage that led to an anal massage that ultimately led to both parties feeling utterly wrecked and sated in the end. And if that wasn’t clear enough, yes, the masseur and I had sex. Several bouts of it. Vigorously.”

 _Anal-_ John aspirated some his saliva and started hacking, his face flushed red at the force of his coughs and the veraciousness of Sherlock’s words; Sherlock patted his back several times, brows furrowed, “ _Je-Christ_ , Sherlock! Can you be _any_ more subtle?!”

Sherlock looked at John as if he is saying something painfully obvious and stupid, “It is normal isn’t it. You went on so called _dates_ , hoping get sex in the end, I just paid for a massage, and I got sex as a freebie. I don’t see what’s wrong with it.”

John’s eyes widened and he retorted, “ _Don’t_ see what’s wr-!”

Sherlock interrupted John as he bulldozed through, “He is a highly sought after professional; he knows the human body _very well_ , we both enjoyed it. He got paid and I got release from all the stiffness I was feeling, though I was a thousand pounds poorer and a little sore after that. It’s a shame we got interrupted by his next schedule as an escort, or we could have continued.”

John felt a flare of jealously burn through him, and before he could stop the words from tumbling out from his lips, he looked at Sherlock straight in the eyes and said, “ _I’m_ a doctor, _I know_ the human body _very well too_. Inside and _out._ ”

John relished the way Sherlock’s pupils dilated at his words and the dusting of pink in his pale cheeks, Sherlock turned his head away coyly, but John caught a fleeting look of a smile gracing those cupid bow lips.

“Don’t tell Mycroft.”

“So it’s a secret that you had sex.”

“Don’t state the obvious, John. It’s unbecoming.”

John shrugged, “No wonder you said sex doesn’t alarm you in Buckingham.”

Sherlock’s lips twitched as he resisted the urge to smile, “He still thinks I’m a virgin, God knows what he will do when he finds out. Most probably something dreadfully annoying.”

John started laughing, “You Holmes brothers do have something in common like us ordinary people then.”

“Which is?”

“Keeping your chastity a secret, afraid the other will humiliate you, or bother you for details.”

Sherlock did a Holmesian eye roll, “We do nothing of the sort. Mycroft likes to interfere with everything; I don’t need him to interfere with the people I sleep with. He might scare them off with his, so called threats. He just likes to show off; he is more bark than bite, most of the times.”

John quirked an eyebrow at the description and murmured, “Looks like you brothers have more things in common than you like to believe.”

“What?”

“I said I wasn’t scared off by Mycroft,” John leaned forward into Sherlock’s personal space, “That much speaks for itself, doesn’t it?”

John like the way the colors of Sherlock’s irises morphed from celadon to silver, and how those pink lips seem to pout a little at his proximity, just urging him to press his lips against his.

“Are you going to kiss me, or just continue staring at me?” Sherlock asked, staring into John’s blue eyes, watching with mild interest as the doctor’s eyes widened.

“You are an arse,” John said, smiling a boyish grin that made Sherlock's heart flutter, “Of course, without question, kiss you.”

“Mm.” Sherlock hummed and closed his eyes, tilting his chin up slightly; waiting. It didn’t take long for him to feel the light press of slightly chapped lips against his own, he parted his lips slightly, and John took the hint and got bolder. Breathing in through his nose, Sherlock tilted his head to the right and slotted their lips together, humming in appreciation when John swiped his bottom lip with his tongue, nipping at the flesh with his teeth before plundering his mouth with his tongue. Sherlock groaned and John pulled away, he opened his eyes, “Regretting?”

“No way,” John licked his lips and then pushed Sherlock’s shoulders, suggesting him to lie back down on the pillows. _How convenient to make out on a bed._

Sherlock lowered himself down on the pillows comfortably, not in the least embarrassed as he started to unbutton his purple dress shirt, pausing when John let out a throaty growl, he looked up and saw the doctor watching him, pupils blown wide. He smiled and spread his arms; instantly, John covered his front with his body, pressing down on all the right places, capturing his lips once again.

John combed his hand through Sherlock’s dark hair messing up the tamed curls, another holding himself up as he pressed his lower body against Sherlock’s own, grinning against the detective’s lips at the hardness he felt against his own.

“Get on with it,” Sherlock said turning his head away to resume unbuttoning his shirt, “Strip.”

“Bossy,” John pushed himself up, bracketing Sherlock’s hips as he unbuttoned his own shirt, chucking his jumper off the bed; he shifted off the detective when Sherlock bucked his hips so he could remove his tailored made pants. John halted unzipping his pants when Sherlock flung his pants off the side of the bed, lying before him in his naked glory, he noted the detective seemed to bask from the attention he was getting, bending a knee and tilting his head back against the satin white pillows, lashes veiling his celadon eyes as he looked back at him, “Git.”

Sherlock grinned, and welcomed John back with open arms when the doctor draped himself over him, littering kisses over his face, his chin, the corner of his lips, his eyes, and his forehead. Sherlock closed his eyes and traced a pattern up John’s arm, humming deep in his throat as the doctor sucked a bruise at the side of his neck, hands delving into his hair, pulling pleasure into him.

Sherlock knew John to be a romantic and caring lover based on how he treated his girlfriends when he brought them over, he flattered them with praise; how their outfit looked stunning on them, or how their makeup made them look energetic and beautiful, and meant every single word of it.

John would hold their hands, and rub soothing circles on their wrists, intimate yet so appropriate. He would offer them tea when he brought them over, if they had a rough day, John would share a bottle of wine with them, and if they were hungry, John would order takeaway of their favorites, on rare occasions, even cook up a small meal.

While it all happened before him, in the living room of 221B, Sherlock had to rein in the surge of emotions raging in him and pretend he wasn’t at all affected, but just annoyed at the presence of a female in their flat, leaving lingering scents of floral sweet perfumes, and the sounds of their laughter after they have left the flat. And because John told him to behave, not to be rude, he would sulk in his leather chair, plucking at the strings of his beloved violin, observing John and his girlfriend discreetly, and drink the lukewarm tea John made for him beforehand.

It then dawned on him during one of the many dates John brought over, the praises, the way John took care of his girlfriend was like the way he did for him, and suddenly Sherlock was overwhelmed, he barely made it to his bedroom before he collapsed on his bed, burying his face into the pillows, laughing. _Relieved._

It was from that point onwards that Sherlock took note of how John acted around him, cataloguing the smallest of details into his mind palace; the fleeting touches when John passed a mug of tea to him, the firm, yet anchoring hand on his wrist in the alleyways while stalking a suspect, the way John looked at him when he uttered one of the few exhalations of praise, a hand on his shoulder during weary weeks without a case, the nagging during breakfast times asking him to eat, John asking him to put some decent clothes on, warning him not to contaminate the food in the fridge, and stop experimenting with milk.

Sherlock couldn’t quite come to a conclusion till now. With John’s lips littering his face with kisses, the caress of slightly calloused palms against his bare skin, he just _knew. The words they both could not say. John was not only in love with him, but…pined for him._

_I have been a blind idiot._

He looked up at the doctor hovering over him, the color of his irises and the gentle look in its depths, Sherlock knew he was done for.

“I must be losing my touch,” John teased, shifting his weight onto another hand, “What were you thinking about at a time like this?”

“You,” Sherlock replied, taking in the fleeting look of surprise flitting across John’s face before it morphed into a familiar look of affection, “I understand what this means to you, us, doing this.”

“Do you?” John asked, Sherlock fixed him a steady stare.

“I can assure you this is not a fling,” Sherlock said, and then continued, “I have every intention to pursue a…relationship with you.”

John relaxed at Sherlock’s words as if a weight lifted from his shoulders, “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“I know.” Sherlock whispered, pulling the doctor down for a chaste peck, “Now ravage me, doctor.”

John laughed, a rumble of sound, and did what Sherlock asked.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh this chapter is filthy.  
> ABSOLUTELY FILTHY.
> 
> Took so long cause' I had to frickle frackle Sherlock few times over.  
> Yes.  
> I tried to be serious, but he turns out cute.  
> So cute, he will be.
> 
> Also, I created a playlist while I was typing this chapter: http://bit.ly/1xNM7a1  
> I played this on loop, especially flesh, while typing smut. Oh yes.
> 
> Unbeta-ed

“You!  _Fu-tease!_ ” Sherlock growled, pushing back and lifting his hips, wishing that tongue would go where he would like it to be, he bunched the pillows in his fists and trembled, his cock hung between his legs throbbing painfully from not ejaculating, a pulsating reminder of John’s small teasing tactics. Every single time he reached down to jerk himself off, his hand would get batted away, and that infuriating tongue would venture further away, the strong flicks of tongue would get lighter; shallower, “John! I  _swear!_  I will kick you out!”

“If?” John queried, licking a wet swipe up Sherlock’s bollocks and pressed his tongue against the sloppy wet rosebud. He felt the detective tense up, and then relax, a deep vibrating groan that sounded almost like a sob, and John decided it was enough for the detective.

Reaching around Sherlock’s thigh, he wrapped his hand around the leaking member and pulled as he pressed his tongue back into the twitching hole, relishing the way Sherlock sounded at his ministrations. It didn’t take long before the detective stilled, then shuddered, muffling his moans as he spilled his release onto the sheets, his breaths hitching and unsteady. John eased Sherlock through his climax till the detective stopped shuddering, slumping back down onto the mattress, his arms folded under him.

“My turn now,” John flipped Sherlock over smiling when the detective made an inelegant yelp, hands flopping everywhere to find support. He wrapped his hands around the detective’s slim ankles and pushed his legs to his chest, he noted how Sherlock’s breath quicken in anticipation, “Rubber?”

“Irreverent. We are both clean. Plus I want to feel you,  _without_  any barriers.” Sherlock said in a moment of clarity, he grinned at the flush brushing across John’s cheeks, “Lube, top dresser.”

John let Sherlock’s ankles go and fumbled through the dresser for the tube, before he stilled at a thought that flashed through his mind, “Wait. Did you and- did you guys use a condom?”

Sherlock sighed, letting his feet rest flat against the mattress, rubbing his head into the pillow, “Are  _you_  my mother?”

“I am your  _doctor._ ” John said in a no joke voice.

“Fine,  _Doctor_  Watson. Yes, we did,” Sherlock answered, then parted his legs, “Now, moving on.”

* * *

Sherlock trembled, biting his lips with muffled moans as he came in short fast bursts, splattering his stomach with inks of translucent white, inside, he felt John paint him with warmth. He groaned and dug his head into the pillow under his head, making up for the pressure he’s lacking somewhere else.

The heat sheathing him is slick with lubricant and cum, John dug his pelvis against the soft firm globes of Sherlock’s ass, admiring the way Sherlock turned his head to the side, eyes lidded, and parted his ruby red lips, letting out the softest of sighs; an exhalation of breath, yet sexier than any other sounds.

“You’re so mesmerizing,” John whispered, leaning down to pepper the detective’s neck with kisses, and to add small love bites to the ones he already made on his collarbone, “I  _adore_  you.”

Sherlock delighted in the affections, humming in response, he ran a hand up to cup John’s cheek, guiding the doctor up for a kiss. Their kiss was slow, unlike the ones they shared awhile ago; a rush of passion and hitched breaths. This is a kiss of adoration, not in the least arousing, yet Sherlock felt the doctor harden inside him.

“John.” Sherlock started, John shifted above him and pressed his cock deeper inside, Sherlock groaned.

“Encore?” John grinned, Sherlock flushed red.

“Idiot.”

“ _Rude._ ” John scolded, pressing Sherlock’s legs to his chest and shifted onto his knees, he pulled out slightly and pressed back into the slick heat, eliciting a deep muffled grunt from the detective, “More lube?”

Sherlock squirmed then shook his head, “No.”

“As always if-”

“If I hurt, I’ll stop you.” Sherlock finished John’s sentence then lifted his hips, “Now, do me.”

“ _Oh god, yes._ ”

* * *

Sometime during their lovemaking, Sherlock found himself manipulated onto his hands and knees with his hips in John’s palms, the feeling of the doctor’s hands grasping tight around his hips was satisfying, but not as glorious as the drag and pull of John’s thick cock in him. He liked the slight burn of John’s cock stretching him open, the feeling of throbbing heat rocking into him, and he particularly like it when John pulled at his hair, guiding his head back for a kiss filled with tongues and clashing teeth.

Sherlock dropped his head down, forehead pressed against the pillows and moaned low and deep at one particularly hard thrust; the slapping sound of flesh hitting flesh further arousing him so does the squelching of cum and lube that seemed to amplify at his every moan.

“H-harder! J-Jo-Jo _hnn!_ ” He let out a yowl and lifted his hips, pressing back against John’s cock, bunching the sheets in his fist, rubbing the side of his face against the pillows as John quickened his thrusts, going deeper, going faster, and every flex of the doctor’s hips drove him higher. Sherlock felt his orgasm nearing, coiling deep in his abdomen, drawing his bollocks up; tighter and tighter at each brutal stroke across his pleasure spot.

John panted, perspiration dripped from his chin as his thigh muscles protested at the exertions, but it was not as painful as his need for release, the tightness sheathing his throbbing cock; slick with lube and his semen, clenched intermittently as Sherlock keened, spreading his knees apart and pressing back against him to accept him further inside, the action was so lewd and obscene John groaned and spewed a few colorful curses.

Leaning forward, John wrapped a hand around Sherlock's nape, pressing the detective down against the mattress, another establishing balance on the bed as he piston his hips forward, fucking Sherlock hard and fast, the detective turned his head to the side and cried a hitched moan, hands fisting the sheets, pulling at them as he arched backwards to receive him.

He grunted loudly as Sherlock clenched down around him, shifting on his knees, he leaned his weight on his hands and flexed his hips forward in short fast thrusts, the sound of skin slapping against skin ringing loud in his ears.

Sherlock bit his hand to muffle the moans rumbling up his throat, almost sobbing when John quicken his thrusts, the force of the stinging of slaps travelling straight to his neglected cock, amplifying his arousal, he huffed short hitched breaths through his parted lips, his skin tingling from pleasure.

“Don’t bite yourself.” John growled into Sherlock's ear, eliciting a muffled groan from the detective who complied almost instantly.

Panting for breath, John flexed his hips, eyes fixed on Sherlock’s flushed face as he rocked into the warmth clenching around his member, relishing the broken keens and strangled moans, he tightened his grasp around Sherlock’s nape and pinned the detective harder into the mattress, working his hips faster as his climax coiled low. John felt a jolt of renewed arousal when Sherlock trembled under him, gasping an indecent moan, not at all objecting the rough treatment, instead he relaxed in his hold, and pushed back against him in an undulating spine roll, fucking himself on his cock as he pinned the detective down; his pelvis and bollocks slapping against soft firm cheeks at each thrust.

“You’re  _killing_ me.” John choked out as Sherlock sucked in shallow breaths through his mouth, the fever red flush on his cheeks and the glimmer of unshed tears in his unfocused eyes, combined with sultry moans; John thinks this is the most salacious thing he has ever seen in his life, all smooth lines and fluid movements. 

His thrusts faltered when he felt bursts of warm breath on his skin, and his heart scrambled into knots at the sight of Sherlock pressing a kiss at his wrist,  _so delicate_ , yet so  _intimate_. Guiding Sherlock back for a kiss, John whispered words from his heart between moist lips, and hitched breaths; what he wouldn’t give to earn his heart.

“ _You already have._ ” Sherlock murmured between huffs, eyes fluttering when John peppered his face with light kisses, trailing back to his nape and between his shoulder blades. He clenched his muscles against John’s member and pressed back in a silent urge.

John handled Sherlock gently, rocking back into the warmth slowly, picking up the pace when the detective pressed back against him impatiently. Pulling out to the head then thrusting back in, he did it again and again, repeatedly till Sherlock was writhing, crying out in a shaky breathless voice.

Sherlock sobbed in a strangled breath when John rocked his cock deeper inside, rubbing that one place which was starting to feel quite sore, but with the feeling of an approaching orgasm at his fingertips, he chased it mercilessly, reaching down between his spread knees he grasped his leaking cock, pulling at his member at the same pace of John’s thrusts. The pressure in his abdomen continued to coil tighter, like a violin string, strung too tight on the verge of snapping, his toes curled, and his hair rose at the nape of his neck. He cried John's name.

“Here?” John panted, pulling Sherlock’s hips back towards him and spread those firm globes apart, he held them apart and resumed his thrusting, and the result was instantaneous. Sherlock sobbed a broken cry, hands grappling for a hold on the sheets, pulling at it in his fists, yowling, his breaths coming out in harsh staccato beats, mixing with bitten off moans, and John knew the detective was nearing his climax.

Upping the speed of his thrusts, John felt Sherlock tense up for a moment, the moans shrilled in volume and then Sherlock made a rumbling moan that sounded like distant thunder, shuddering as he came, clenching down on his cock, convulsing around him before slumping down limp on the mattress, leaving John to take his pleasure as he desire.

John pulled Sherlock’s hips up and chased his own orgasm, the warm heat around him twitched instinctively as he pressed his cock in, Sherlock gave a low groan and shifted, lifting his hips up, presenting himself, and the sight of his cock thrusting in and out at the place they were joined combined with the feeling of slick heat grasping his member, so open around him was suddenly too much to bear, it didn’t take long before John bottomed out inside, shuddering as he came with Sherlock’s name on his lips.

Riding out the shivers of his orgasm, John pulled out and flopped on the empty space beside the detective, high on endorphins, he chuckled, taking deep breaths as he tried to get his heart rate under control. He didn’t mind when Sherlock interrupted his breathing exercise by capturing his lips in a kiss, he parted his lips and welcomed Sherlock’s eager tongue, sucking on the agile muscle, appreciating the low moan that was muffled by his lips.

Sherlock broke the kiss as he parted for breath, turning onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, he heard John move beside him moments later, clattering about, and he didn’t pay the doctor any mind as he closed his eyes. He is exhausted, and all he wanted to do now is have a nap. Maybe some water. But his limbs felt too heavy to move, and he was too lazy to try.

But things don’t always go the way you want.

Sherlock was startled by a wet towel cleaning him and he peeled his eyes open, blinking blearily at the doctor, “ _What_  are you doing?”

“Cleaning you, after the mess  _you_  made.” John teased; cleaning up the semen stains on Sherlock’s stomach, and then trailed down to Sherlock’s limp member, before nudging the plaint detective’s thighs apart and set about to clean up the mess  _he_  made. His cock gave a twitch of interest when he saw the extent of the mess he made; it was weirdly arousing to see his ejaculate dribbling out of the reddened puckered hole, slowly trailing down to stain the white sheets. John had an inexplicable urge to swipe his thumb across or use his tongue to lick it back in, though Sherlock is pliant and quiet at the moment, John knew he would not conform to a thought like that.

“What  _exactly_  are you doing?” Sherlock asked above him, John looked up between Sherlock’s spread legs and shook his head.

“Nothing, not really,” John grinned.

Sherlock furrowed his brows in suspicion, and then closed his legs at the sight of John’s tumescent cock, shiny from all the lube and cum. He struggled onto his elbows and pinned John with one of his stares.

John watched as Sherlock did one of his deduction stares on him, face wiped of all expressions, eyes focused and hard. The detective is a beautiful, gorgeous man he had caused to become a tousled, flushed mirror image of the man, if not more, Sherlock was even more beautiful. John liked the color of his kissed swollen lips, the pink flush in his cheeks and his ever changing colors of his irises, which is now, a beautiful color of silver, and John liked the way how those inky dark curls framed his face, soft and fluffy; the black hair tie lay loosened on the sheets.

Sherlock looked delectable in every state, and John craved him. Craved the danger that came with Sherlock. Needed him like air; Sherlock is life to him. At the same time, he wanted to protect that fragile part of Sherlock, to shield him, to bury that side inside him so Sherlock wouldn’t get hurt. But John couldn’t do that, so he tried to make up for it in his own ways, with light caresses, and reassuring words, just to let Sherlock know that he can see him for who he is, and he isn’t going to run away.

Sherlock blinked, sighing; a desolated sound, but there was a hint of a smile, “John, you’re really a man of surprises.” 

John smiled, face heating a little at the mild praise, “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“You don’t have to,” Sherlock said then he turned his head away, and looked a little awkward doing so, face flushing, “I’m feeling a little sore, but I could stand another round.”

John winced, his erection flagging at the bare thought of hurting Sherlock, “It’s fine.”

Sherlock hid a smile and laid back down, stretching his arms above his head and arching his back in a graceful stretch; groaning. He chuckled when John slapped his thigh.

“You fucking tease. Test my patience and I’ll make you cry,” John warned teasingly, his words weren’t empty yet Sherlock’s eyes seemed to sparkle with uninhibited delight, his smile challenging, “ _Holmes._ ”

Sherlock shivered at the voice John used to pronounce his name, a name John seldom called him with, but to have it used in this context, he didn’t know what to think; but he definitely love it.

“Is that so,  _Captain?_ ” Sherlock deliberately pronounced the title in a low deep timbre that he knew John wouldn’t react well to, not in this situation, not when he is testing the doctor’s patience.

He noted with brief pleasure at the prurient interest in John’s blue eyes, the calculating gaze, how his patience waned intangibly, Sherlock knew he affected the doctor at the sight of that thick member between John’s strong thighs growing erect and swollen, veins protruding, filling with blood, the thick head beading pre-cum.

At the sight of that, Sherlock remembered salaciously how that huge cock penetrated him, its girth spreading him open, filling him up to the hilt with pulsating heat, thick and full. The way John fucked him; his slightly raw bum throbbed in reminder, was rough, and hard without respite.

Despite John’s outward caring and mild demeanor, the doctor is a man full of experience on how to fully please his bed partners; Sherlock knew that really well now. He had lost count on how many times he came, his orgasms were like, for the lack of a better word, a tidal wave, crashing into him, disorientating him. He could only let himself be taken over as John fucked him through it, rubbing his insides with that huge erect organ, grazing against his prostate, stroking that little smooth, swollen surface inside him till the tight pressure of pleasure tipped him over the edge again, coaxing him into another orgasm that left him trembling uncontrollably and boneless.

His hole twitched instinctively and Sherlock felt a dribble of viscous liquid exiting him, almost instantly, Sherlock wondered if it was a good choice taunting the doctor. He wasn’t sure if a person could die from having too much sex, but now, he had to believe they can. His nerves were raw and his muscles ached, his now erect cock throbbing from arousal and over-stimulation.

Sherlock's gaze locked on with the doctor’s eyes for a instant, and Sherlock pondered whether if he should tell John that he hurt and he couldn’t stand another round of coitus. But from the look of it, he knew John wouldn’t believe him, not when he is spotting his own erection.

John smiled, his dark blue eyes glinting, “What did you just call me?”

“ _Captain._ ” Sherlock repeated, and he knew the moment John shifted fully into his captain demeanor. John’s shoulders straightened and his posture seemed bigger, his eyes lighting up with luminous intent.

_Captain John Watson; known to his mates as Three Continents Watson._

A thrill of adrenaline tingled up his spine and Sherlock shivered, if he made a low whine, he didn’t notice, not when John is smirking down at him, his tumescent cock hanging heavily between strong toned thighs, exhibiting visual cues of a captain he is, so used to this, so used to giving orders, so confident it’s bordering on arrogance,  _so dominating._

“Spread your legs,” John commanded, giving a hum in response when Sherlock did what he was told, he settled between Sherlock’s parted thighs and pressed their erections together, rocking slowly, “I’m going to _fuck_  you nice and  _hard_ , would you like that?  _Answer me._ ”

 “Yes, please,  _sir._ ” Sherlock answered and he was rewarded with a kiss filled with tongue and teeth, he groaned and rocked his hips upwards, rubbing their erections together.

 “ _Splendid_  answer,” John gave Sherlock’s bottom lip a nip before pulling back, hoisting the detective’s legs over his shoulders, he positioned his cock over the puckered hole and pressed in, “ _Holmes._ ”

Sherlock gave a low groan at the feeling of John breeching him, stretching his sphincter muscle open with a slight burn; it still hurts a little to accommodate John fully but he would never tell John that. He shuddered at the tone of voice used to call him; smoky, and mysterious, so very appealing. Sherlock doubt he would be able to overwrite this memory, and if John calls him with that in the future, he wouldn’t be able to forget how it was used in this context. John is messing with him, and enjoying it, from the flare of power in his eyes.

“Stop enjoying this.” Sherlock grunted, and John slapped his thigh in reprimand.

“I’m the one giving commands here.” John pressed forward, leaning down as he nipped at the plump bottom lip warningly, “Understood?”

Sherlock made a low sound at the back of his throat in acquiescence and John rumbled; pleased.

“ _Good._ ” John enunciated, sliding his hand up and down in soothing rubs over the reddening hand mark on Sherlock’s thigh.

He trembled from all the conflicting sensations, his thigh stung, and he twitched involuntarily around the head of John’s cock, eliciting a deep guttural grunt from the doctor. It wasn’t a usual occurrence to be dominated over, and Sherlock felt it was safe to be under John’s. His cock throbbed painfully in response to John’s reprimanding slap, and oh god, how he  _loves_  it.

“That felt good?” John caressed the reddened mark on Sherlock’s pale thigh, Sherlock stared up at him with a almost doleful expression and he smirked, “You liked it, didn't you.”

Biting his lip, Sherlock took a deep breath through his nose as John pressed into him, till he felt John’s bollocks and the coarse pricking of John’s pubic hair against his bum, he clenched his muscles instinctively around the girth of John’s cock, and lolled his head back against the pillows.

John started off slow, and then upped the speed of his thrusts; gripping the back of Sherlock’s thighs. It didn’t take him long to find a comfortable rhythm and stick to it, but the detective under him squirmed, his brows furrowed, he didn’t look the least pleasured.

Pausing, John pulled out and grabbed a pillow, stuffing it under Sherlock’s hips to lift his lower body up and support his spine; the detective wiggled on the pillow to find the perfect spot, shimmying up the pillow a little and planted his feet flat on the bed, his thighs spread open, knees bracketing John’s hips. He stared at John under his lashes, waiting, fluttering them when John ran an appreciative glance up the length of his body, the heavy sexual organ between John’s thighs standing erect, a white pearl of pre-cum beading at the head. Sherlock lolled his head back and made a low noise at the back of his throat, a vibrating whine which evidently appealed to the doctor.

John pushed those long legs to Sherlock’s chest, doubling the flexible detective over, pulling his arse cheeks apart in the process, baring that redden intimate area to his scrutiny. Positioning himself, John pressed in, and this time, Sherlock made a strangled noise, his hands scrambling for the sheets, the most beautiful flush brushing his cheeks.

“Good?” John asked and Sherlock peered at him, nodding, he thrust forward and the detective moaned; eyes fluttering shut.

“ _Oh._ ” Sherlock uttered, bunching the sheets tighter in his fists at the feel of John sliding in smoothly, stroking all the right places, he jerked when he felt the blunt head of John’s cock brushing against that oversensitive surface, “N-no,  _not_  there.”

“No?” John repeated and did it again, thrusting at the same spot; the detective under him yowled and shook, tossing his head on the pillows, his eyes wide, almost pleadingly.

 “N-n _o, Johnn. It hurts._  Not there.” Sherlock said, and then cried out again when John shifted, “ _N-noo._ ”

John halted his movements upon Sherlock’s cry of pain and gauged if Sherlock was just trying to mess with him, but apparently not, not when Sherlock’s eyes were pained and moist; his forehead scrunched up.

John was immediately concerned, his voice softened as he asked, “Do you want me to stop?”

Sherlock shook his head then cried out again when John pressed in, he choked, “No,” His erection has started to flag at the pain, yet he couldn’t shake off that itch lingering at the back of his mind, “ _Don’t_  stop. Just, not there.”

John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead, “I think it’s time to stop. Though I said I’ll make you cry, I don’t mean from pain.” Sherlock shook under him and he soothed the detective, pacifying, “I’ll get you some medicine.” He shifted off the younger man and pulled out, Sherlock made a sound that was close to a warble. John’s heart did a somersault at the sound, and it didn’t help when Sherlock is pawing at him, lying plaint under him, showing him the redden marks he made on his neck, trying to engage him again, John knew it was a ploy, but it doesn’t make him less affected than he is, “You’re hurting.”

“John,  _no,_ ” Sherlock uttered as the doctor moved away from him; picking up the wet towel from before to clean up the slick from his still erect member, he struggled a little to sit up with his bum throbbing but he managed before John left for the bathroom, “Don’t.”

John smiled at him, “Just washing this.”

Sherlock sighed; his erection now lay limp on his stomach.

 _Something doesn’t feel right._  His mind supplied him, and Sherlock did a mental check on his person.

_Skin. Tingly. Room feels hot._

_Gauging…Estimated current room temperature approximately 26 degrees Celsius._

_Drugs: narrowed down. Aphrodisiac? Wrong._

_Heat inducing blanket? Wrong._

_???_

_Possible explanation. Unsatisfied?_

_…_

_Remedy: JOHN WATSON._

_ADVANCES REJECTED._

_ERROR._

_ERROR._

In a fit of frustration, Sherlock flung the pillows across the room and rolled himself into the blanket; simmering in his own thoughts.

John returned to the room to a white lump on the bed with a head of dark curls poking out at the top, the pillows on the bed were gone; lying on the floor across the room, “Sherlock. Medicine. Water, and a towel.”

The white lump moved, and then rolled onto its side to face him, Sherlock glanced at him, and a pale hand peeked out within the sheet, and took the small white tablet and swallowed it with a gulp of water. The towel, he ignored it, rolling away from him and into the sheet, “Are you sulking?”

“No,  _I’m not._ ” Sherlock replied petulantly, he heard John chuckle and a hand slipped through his curls, untangling the knots.

“Yes, you are.” John said, then nudged the detective out of his sheet, “Come, I need to check for injury.”

“I shouldn’t have told you it hurts.” Sherlock said, letting John peel the sheet off him.

“You made the right choice.” John spread Sherlock’s legs apart and probed at the puckered hole, slipping a finger inside to check for tearing, and then pulled his finger out, wiping the digit on the towel, “I don’t see any blood, eh…nope, no bleeding, but if you experience any pain you have to tell me, a thorough examination at a hospital may be required, but we are trying to avoid that.”

“I’m just sore, I’m fine, I know my body.” Sherlock huffed at the clinical touches, and then scrunched his nose at the idea of a hospital visit, “And, no, I didn’t make a right choice.”

John gave Sherlock’s leg an affectionate pat, “Why is it so?”

“I feel weird.”

John was at attention, “Weird? How so?”

“Tingly.” Sherlock said, “Like I’m about to crawl out of my skin.”

John paused, “In other words, you feel deprived.”

“For the lack of a better word, yes,” Sherlock met John’s eyes, “so either you help me, or I’ll find someone else.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Sherlock internally piqued at the hint of anger in the doctor’s voice, smirking to himself, he feint nonchalance, “I still have the masseur’s number, maybe I could give him a call.” When John didn’t reply he continued, “Then you could vacate Baker Street for a few hours?”

Sherlock watched the way John silently fumed, his dark blue eyes darkening, he smiled internally, pleased his taunts are working, and that John felt possessive of him.

“So you want me to fuck you, or you will find someone else to do it?” John asked, his voice dropping an octave.

Sherlock blinked slowly, then smiled, “Who would have thought a day like this will come.”

John pursed his lips, and looked even more agitated, “Even when you’re hurting?”

Sherlock took note of his current pain index.

 “The medication you gave me is working; I’m not feeling any pain at the moment.”

“ _Good._ ” John uttered and that one word was loaded, “You’ll be craving for numbness later.”

_Warning!_

_John is angry._

_Remed-_

Sherlock yelped undignified as John stuffed a rolled up sheet under his hips, and pulled his legs apart, settling between them. He didn’t manage to get a word in before John pressed into him; he gasped at the sudden intrusion and shuddered at the look on John’s face.

_Dan-_

_????_

Sherlock groaned.

His mind palace flickering out of reach as his focus wavered at the pleasure that is starting to course through him, diverting his attention.

He didn’t get to ponder more on the subject before he was pounded mercilessly into the mattress. Sherlock yelped as he was folded over, legs pressed to his chest, he keened when John rocked into him, grunting and panting, the dark, almost feral look in his eyes; fixed upon his face.

Sherlock felt his cheeks grow hot and he advert his gaze, turning his head away, inviting the gaze of the doctor to his hickey adorned neck.

A frisson of pleasure shot through him when John growled low in his throat, a rumble of sound that resonated through his body as John took his pleasure from him, seizing his hips in a hold that would leave bruises, and fucking him hard and rough into the creaking mattress.

Sherlock winced when his head bumped continuously against the headboard, each thrust pushing him up the bed, stretching an arm above his head, he pressed back as John thrust forward. John noticed and smiled a predatory grin as if he scored a terrible victory, perspiration slipping down his temple, dark blue eyes glinting.

Sherlock groaned as John’s hands slipped on his hips, his thrust missing the precise spot, hoisting his legs up, he reached down with a hand and grabbed his butt cheek, baring himself open for John, and he was rewarded with a particularly hard, firm brush against the swollen surface inside, he yowled and threw his head back, the rough thrusts pulling broken moans from his throat.

Biting his bottom lip to muffle the lewd sounds he never knew he was capable of, he trashed under the doctor when John slowed his thrusts, the coiling tight sensation of his orgasm receding, he snarled in response, bucking up against the older man. He was soon soothed with a kiss as John whispered filthy promises against his lips. His interest was renewed when the doctor pulled him up, and with a little awkward maneuvering, Sherlock settled onto John’s lap and looked down upon the doctor’s face, he jerked when John bucked his hips up, the shallow thrust startling him with its deep seated intensity.

“Ride me.” John commanded, and wrapped his arms around the detective’s slim waist, his hands supporting and guiding as Sherlock moved up and down on his cock. He grunted when Sherlock tightened around him; his body trembling.

Sherlock moved slowly at first, lifting himself up and then pressing back down, clenching his muscles around John’s pulsating member; he felt the doctor twitch inside him.

John groaned, reaching up and grabbed Sherlock by the nape, pulling him down for a bruising kiss, he sucked on that full bottom lip, and grazed his teeth over the flesh, plundering Sherlock’s mouth with his tongue, coaxing Sherlock into a dance of tongues and muffled moans.

Slipping his hand down between them, John wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s leaking cock and gave it a pull, swallowing the rumbling moan as the detective rode him, large hands slipping through his soft blond hair, tugging and pulling.

“Faster.” John whispered between Sherlock’s lips, lips warming from their harsh breaths, he slipped his hand down from Sherlock’s nape, down the graceful arch of the detective’s spine, and slipped his thumb between Sherlock’s parted cheeks, rubbing at the place where they were joined, “ _Faster._ ”

Sherlock gave a full body shudder and complied, keening when John ran his tongue over his peaked nipples, pulling it between his teeth gently.

“J- _john._ ” Sherlock rasped, faltering when John quickened his pace on his cock, the hand fisting him slippery with his essence, warm and tight. Just when he was about to come, John pulled his hand away and pushed his shoulders backwards, he felt John slip out of him as his shoulders hit the bed.

John sidled down Sherlock’s long legs and settled between them, pressing his lips against the milky white skin of Sherlock’s inner thigh, he sucked at the soft flesh, his eyes fixed resolutely on Sherlock’s face as he formed a blossoming red mark. Pleased with his handiwork, he did the same for the other thigh, and then worked his way inwards, leaving a trail of red marks that would darken into a bruise within the next few days.

John watched Sherlock as his face neared the erect cock, leaking copious amounts of pre-cum. He huff a breath of warm air and smirked when Sherlock jerked; his eyes fluttering, pearly whites biting into his kissed swollen bottom lip.

Despite being angry at Sherlock, John couldn’t deny the degree of affection he held for the detective. His chest blossomed with a feeling of raw possessive affection upon the sight of Sherlock lying before him, gelatinous pools of silver glazed and moist watching his every move, unfocused yet alert, those pouty lips tinted rose red from his harsh kisses; a lovely color on his pale skin, complementing the hickeys and love bites he laid on Sherlock’s skin.

“You’re mine.” John uttered, slipping an arm under the graceful arch of Sherlock’s spine, pulling the detective up and against him, “ _Mine._ ”

Sherlock sucked in a deep breath and exhaled shakily as the dark terror of possessiveness painting the usually kind face of John, he felt cornered, and when John placed a kiss on the skin of inner thigh, he swallowed. Adrenaline spiked, he felt a lick of clarity return to him. His mind shot out facts, and what frightened him the most was doubt. Did he make a mistake? Is this John, really the John he knew?

He was so caught up in his thinking that he didn’t feel John touching him, maneuvering his legs up, and he jerked when John eased himself back inside and rocked his hips forward. The hardness in him was pulsating, throbbing, but he didn’t feel aroused, instead he felt afraid. He didn’t dare to move, not when that look is still across John’s face, making the kind doctor look so distant, so dark, so unfamiliar, so un-John like, and with the nagging doubts racing through his mind, it made the entire process even more terrifying.

John didn’t know he had it in him till he saw the frightened look on Sherlock’s face, instantly John recognized him as the man beneath the armor; young and filled with doubts, and John felt an overwhelming urge to protect him, shelter him, just to wipe that look away. He wondered if Mycroft saw through the façade Sherlock put up, and saw this young, doubtful expression that filled his heart with a strange kind of fierce protectiveness.

John must have seen his terror stricken expression that he did not bother to mask, because that dark expression on the doctor’s face slipped, and Sherlock caught a glimpse of the usual John underneath. His doubts eased a little, and was temporarily forgotten when John started to thrust, pelvis slapping against his skin, the thick cock inside him slipping against the swollen bump. His arousal inched back slowly at the smooth, fluid thrusts, pleasure tingled up his spine, and he shivered, whimpering.

Sherlock panted, blunt nails digging into the flesh of John’s biceps as John rocked into him, the thick blunt head of his cock stroking that overly sensitive bump, it feels so good yet it hurts. He wants John to stop yet doesn’t want that tingling coiling pressure of his nearing climax to dissipate, the pain pleasure slowly driving him up at each snap of John’s hips, he looked into John’s dark blue eyes and cried, “J-Johnn!”

John shushed the detective with light caresses as he paced faster, and watch Sherlock lose himself bit by bit to the pleasure he is inflicting upon him.

Body trembling with his head thrown back against the pillows, Sherlock bared his long column of neck as broken sounds were pulled from his throat.

John bit his lip and snapped his hips forward, eliciting a pitched sob, he did it again, and Sherlock shuddered, a delicate red flush dusting his cheeks and chest; Sherlock’s sonorous voice and broken moans encouraging him on.

His breath came out in staccato beats, short and fast, the pressure dipped low, coiling.

Sweat dripped from his forehead onto his lashes, blurring his sight.

The hands on his hips tightened to a bruising hold, his bum pricked with hot achy pain caused by John’s thrusts, the tingling feeling coupled with the hard thick rod of John’s cock plundering into him in fast, rough thrusts. His bum hurt, his cock hurt, his throat hurt from crying out, and his eyes burned from all the overwhelming sensations.

Sherlock cried out at one hard thrust, his hands shooting forward to grab John’s biceps as the doctor rocked into him, inching him up the bed, the coiling pressure built higher and Sherlock was slowly driven desperate by it, the need to come is so strong, he would go mad if he was to be deprived of it.

He craved John’s caresses, the firm, soothing touches, and not the rough, forceful grabs, looking up and into John’s dark blue eyes, he sobbed, “J-johnn... _Nooo._ ”

“ _Shhh…_ ” John shushed, palming Sherlock’s cheek as he piston his hips forward, “It’s alright.”

“J- _johnnn…_ ” Sherlock cried out, so relieved at the sight of his John, cuddly, oatmeal jumper wearing John, that he felt his eyes grow hot, he choked back a sob as hot fat tears slipped down from the corners of his eyes and into his hairline, “Jo- _hnn._ ”

John shushed, and brought them over the edge.

* * *

His hands and legs flopped back down on the mattress with a thump, he panted, chest heaving as sweat and tears trailed down into his hairline. The semen on his stomach cooled.

John extracted himself from Sherlock’s twitching body and soothed the detective’s tears.

“Alright?” John asked, wiping away the semen stains from Sherlock’s stomach and covered them both with a blanket.

“I like cuddly John better.” Sherlock sniffed; lips in a full pout. John kissed them and Sherlock felt marginally better.

“It’s okay now.”

Sherlock looked wrecked, utterly debauched, his hair a disaster, “No, it’s not.”

“Why not?”

“ _Hmph._ ” Sherlock huffed, folding his arms across his chest.

“Why are you sulking?”

“ _I’m not._ ”

“Yes, you are.”

“I hurt, John.”

“Whose fault is that?”

Sherlock replied instantly, “Yours.”

“You taunted me  _first._ ” John rebuked, pursing his lips.

“Fine.  _Partially._ ”

“Now, come here.”

“Why?”

“Let me make you feel better.”

“Make me feel better how? No. Don’t touch me.”

“How am I going to hug you if I don’t touch you?”

“No touchy-feely, John,” Sherlock dictated but allowed John to pull him into a hug, curling into himself, he tucked his head under John’s chin, “I hurt.”

“Okay, okay.” John pacified, rubbing soothing circles around Sherlock’s back.

“I deduce I’m going to walk funny for the next few days.”

John chuckled, “Don’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that.”

“Cancel all appointments, and reject all clients, John. I’ll be recuperating.”

“I’m not your secretary, Sherlock.”

Sherlock quipped, “You’re my blogger,” and then hesitated for awhile, "and my partner."

John smiled, and pecked Sherlock's forehead, “Fine. I’ll tell them your bum hurts.”

“No, you will not!”

“ _Ow!_  Don’t need to be violent. Okay, okay. I’ll inform them you’re sick and is unable to see them in person; doctor’s orders.”

“Acceptable. John, I’m thirsty. Go get me a glass of water.”

John chided, “Where are your manners?”

“Please?” Sherlock looked up at John and batted his eyelashes, “ _Captain?_ ”

“Do that again and there  _will be_  touchy-feely, Sherlock.” John warned cautiously.

“ _Noooo_ , don’t, John. I hurt.” Sherlock lisped unintentionally and scrunched his nose, his bum ached and his cock throbbed in reminder, “ _No more._ ”

John swallowed, his heart thumped faster at the whine in Sherlock’s voice, it was  _quite,_  appealing, “That’s worst. I feel something  _tingly._ ”

“GET OUT!” Sherlock yelled and kicked John out of bed, and then yowled at the shooting pain that tingled up his bum.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m a huge sucker for cute Sherlock.  
> I somehow always, without fail, unconsciously portray him a little softer, personality wise.  
> And John would be protective.  
> Sherlock would go “Nooooo.” In a teary voice and John’s heart would go thump thump thump.
> 
> Oh GODDDD.
> 
> What have I brought upon myself?

**Author's Note:**

> ALL THE SMUT, NEXT!


End file.
